


Rivalry

by The_Fictionist



Series: AU Twists [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 05:40:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fictionist/pseuds/The_Fictionist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows how Harry refused to shake the hand of Draco Malfoy's and they became rivals. What if it was Tom Riddle instead?</p><p>Inspired by Fieradimaggio's prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rivalry

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Соперники](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5824927) by [Fellande](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fellande/pseuds/Fellande)



Most people knew about the rivalry between Tom Riddle and Harry Potter.

The teachers would complain about the obsessive lengths the two would go to beat the other in class work, whilst grudgingly admitting it did wonders for their grades if they didn’t blow the room up first.

 

Their fellow students would watch on with varying levels of amusement, resignation or fear as the two traded jabs which grew only more vicious with age, as more and more history was piled onto a rivalry which bordered on a fued. Tried to stay out of the way. Took sides or made bets.

 

Everyone wondered where it started from. Some claimed the two had known each other before attending Hogwarts, others would declare they fancied the same girl, a few would say it was the natural consequence of two powerful, opposing yet similar forces being split into Gryffindor and Slytherin.

  
Nobody would make a guess at something so simple as an unshaken hand.

 

* * *

 

 

When Tom Riddle first met Harry Potter, he wanted to be friends - or, perhaps, he wanted to be the type of boy who had friends like Harry Potter. The first year was like him, he could tell just by looking at him.

 

He could have given him the world, but he’d refused him, settled for the riff raff instead, and that could never be forgiven.  

  
If he couldn’t have him as his friend, he would prove he didn’t need him at all. That he was better - better than all of them, and any of the pathetic specimens the boy called his friend.

 

And maybe, just maybe, if he couldn’t have him, nobody else could either and there was a thrill to breaking something so exquisite.

 

He’d always loved a challenge.

 

* * *

  
  
When Harry Potter first met Tom Riddle he’d thought he was an arrogant fake, with a cruel glint in his eyes.

  
He didn’t like to see his friends dismissed, as if they weren’t important. And, as time went on, Tom Riddle became someone he sincerely wanted to ruin.

 

The boy was perfect at everything! It drove him absolutely nuts. It was like he thought no one could see through his poor little orphan act! Even his hair was bloody perfect, never a strand out of place.

  
He wanted to punch the bastard just to see if he bled like a normal person. Bloody him up and tear him open so that everyone could see what a poisonous mess he was inside, behind that charming smile.

 

Maybe he just didn’t like losing.   
Maybe at eleven years old he felt pressured by the splits in houses, and was desperate to keep what friends he had.

 

But things escalated over the years.   
  


* * *

  
  
He got into the Quidditch Team in his first year, through a freak accident with Draco Malfoy trying to impress Riddle.

 

Tom joined up in second year and knocked him out by smashing a bludger into his head.

 

* * *

 

 

Tom got spells with an incredible ease, so of course he had to keep up with the other’s straight ‘O’ record after the smug little smile he got the first time. It didn’t matter if Ron said he was obsessed and that it didn’t matter, that he was turning into Hermione, he couldn’t bear to see that smile again.

 

He relished the times he beat him, and his grades soared. They were soon competing top of the year, because though maybe he initially found the theory difficult, it turned out he wasn’t without power when he put his mind to it.

 

* * *

 

 

In third year, he was utterly surprised.

He was knocked out in the match due to unseen circumstances with the dementors, and found out that Riddle had all but blackmailed the staff into getting a rematch.

 

He never thought Riddle was one for winning honourably.

 

* * *

 

In fourth year, Grindelwald returned and he’d never been more grateful for how much he’d put into beating Riddle, and thus improving himself.

 

Riddle was the Hogwarts Champion. Harry was the fourth, unseen.

Maybe that was why there was never any duelling based task - it wouldn’t be very good for the school if they killed each other, but the factions grew sharper than ever.

 

He found himself glad that the boy managed to defend himself enough not to get killed by Grindelwald. Found out he was the Heir of Slytherin.   
  
Didn’t expect to, for once, find himself working with Tom instead of against him.   
  
Didn’t know what to think after that.

 

* * *

  
  
The Triwizard Tournament offered glory and the possible fame he needed for his plans.   
Typical that Potter would muscle in, as if he wasn’t famous and rich enough already.

 

He did everything he could to sabotage the other, excelled in his tasks. Watched Harry do so too with ferocity. Slammed him aside to get to the cup, felt a surge of disappointment to reach it at the same time exactly, and then ran cold.

 

It wasn’t for Potter. And if it was, it was because Hogwarts would be no fun without somebody to beat, and he couldn’t move on if some other Dark Lord decided to kill of his rivals. He had plans for the Wizarding World, and they didn’t include prostrating himself before Grindelwald.

 

But something shifted.

He wondered how things would be if Harry was always on his side. If he’d shaken his hand.

 

* * *

 

 

In fifth year, everything got serious, and such petty squabbles no longer mattered. 

It still irritated to see Riddle win at anything, if only because he couldn’t help but be terrified that if he couldn’t beat his classmate, how could he possibly beat Grindelwald when he had years of magical experience on him?

 

Then Sirius died, and it was all his fault, and he was crushed beneath the weight of a prophecy he didn’t have the first clue what to do with, and nothing mattered anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

He should have been focused on his plans for becoming the newest ruler of Wizarding Britain, of his utopia, but he also couldn’t help but note how subdued Potter was.

 

He looked crushed. Broken. And no one was to break his toys, except him.   
He tried to ignore it. Managed to convince himself of a victory as the boy’s grades began to slip with stress and the clear shadows of exhaustion under his eyes.

 

By sixth year,  when Harry quit the Quidditch Team, he’d had enough.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry walked down the corridor, hands stuffed in his pockets and his head downcast.   
His head was spinning.

 

He just felt so hollow. It just felt like he had no chance in this war, and Dumbledore was being too bloody elusive to be of any help. He just…felt so alone.

 

If he had friends, he was just in danger of getting them killed. Grindelwald had made that clear.   
More so…it had become evident that he was just a piece, a pawn, against Dumbledore.

  
He didn’t feel like the man’s equal, certainly. He felt like a piece of tug of rope between the two lords, a bargaining chip on an age old feud he’d somehow got dragged into.

 

He barely even noticed Riddle approach him, shoving him hard in the shoulder.

  
“You quit the Quidditch team,” the other near hissed at him. He blinked, startled - because that could hardly matter now.

  
“Yeah. Congrats. You won. I yield,” he said, tiredly, after a moment. “I don’t have time for this.” He turned away, to continue walking, only to definitely-not-yelp-in-shock when Riddle grabbed the front of his collar and shoved him into the wall.   
  
“You will make time for me,” Tom said, firmly. Harry’s eyes widened, and he wetted his lips. “Is that clear?”

 

His mouth dried.   
“My god, maybe some of the rumours are right and you really do fancy me. Jealous of the Dark Lord, Riddle?” he tried his patented sneer, and to throw the other off him. “Get off.” He turned his head away, only for Riddle to snatch hold of his chin and jerk his head back in an unforgiving clear.

  
“I said am I making myself clear? I don’t know what type of angsty heroic slump you’ve gotten into, but you best shake yourself out of it quickly because I’m losing patience.”

 

“Oh yes, because it’s all about you,” Harry growled.   
  
“Yes, actually it is,” the other said. Harry laughed at that, a disbelieving sort of laugh. Riddle’s gaze raked across his features, almost hungrily. “You rejected my friendship, Potter. I do not allow you the audacity of rejecting my enmity.”  
  
“Yeah, well no offence to your enmity and whatever else, but I have a Dark Lord trying to kill me. I kind of have bigger problems than beating you in class.”

 

“You didn’t beat me in class,” Tom said, automatically, grip tightening. But the other had a considering expression. “If Grindelwald is dead, will you snap back to normal? I’m getting seriously bored.”

 

Harry blinked and stared.   
“Yes, I suppose,” he replied. Riddle nodded.

 

“Then I’ll help you kill him. We both know I’m a million times better than you at everything, so…easy pickings if you somehow managed to temporarily destroy him as a baby.”  
  
Harry gaped.

  
“I- you are not a million times better than me!”  
  
“Well, I’m certainly a million times more powerful that Gellert Grindelwald could ever hope to be. Should have shook my hand, Harry.”  
  
Harry snorted with an involuntarily sort of amusement, head tilting.   
  
“You seriously intend to help me take down a Dark Lord?”  
  
Riddle shrugged, giving him a rather dangerous smirk.

“First one to kill the bastard wins.”

 

Harry laughed.   
And maybe something shifted once more.

 


End file.
